


A Little Social Mixer

by Adenil



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Crack, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Sex Pollen, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:46:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3068441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Banner is just trying to pretend to enjoy the party when Loki rains some orgy-magic down upon them. Things quickly go south.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Social Mixer

**Author's Note:**

> A little crack!fic to lighten your day.

Granted, it’s been a while since Bruce attended any sort of thing which could be called a “party,” but he’s still quite certain that Fury’s party hat should not be sticking straight up at a ninety-degree angle from his head like some sort of symbol of virility.

He glances around at the others assembled. Thor is speaking sternly with Loki in the corner, occasionally going for a brotherly arm pat that sends Loki bristling like a cat. Steve is sipping punch out of a cup and chatting with Coulson, who has more stars in his eyes than Steve has on his suit. Steve’s friends—Bruce vaguely knows them as _some army guy, probably bad news_ (Sam) and _some HYDRA guy, definitely bad news_ (Bucky)—are apparently arguing over tiny hotdogs on sticks. Natasha is switching the music to something with a good beat and chatting with Hill. Clint, as well as Tony and his group, are still no-shows.

No one seems to have noticed the pink-and-yellow, cone-shaped monstrosity resting on Fury’s head. Bruce takes a careful sip of his punch and doesn’t comment on it.

“Well, Dr. Banner?” Fury asks.

Bruce isn’t sure what to say. He gestures meekly with his punch. “Nice party?”

Fury glowers at him.

Thankfully, Bruce is saved from making further awkward small talk by the arrival of Pepper and another army guy that Bruce assumes is equally bad news, Rhodey. He recognizes Rhodey, vaguely, from all the tall tales Tony tells him about him. Pepper is glowing unnaturally orange and gives him a little wave which he meekly returns before shuffling away.

He starts to ask where Tony is, but before he can get the words out the Loki and Thor Show explodes.

“Brother, please!”

“Do not mock me, you _whelp_ ,” Loki scoffs. “We are no more brothers than you are fit to be king and I will _demonstrate_.”

With that, he lifts his hand and snaps his fingers.

*

Clint is quite happily snoring away in his bunk when he gets the text.

 _Need you_ —BB

He’s got his boots on and his bow in his hand before his conscious mind even finishes processing the message. Hell, when he’d decided to skip Fury’s mandatory _everyone must be friends with everyone, goddammit_ party he hadn’t expected any negative repercussions. But if Bruce is texting him with cryptic messages like that, it has to be bad.

He just hopes SHIELD hasn’t reneged on their agreement to let Banner just be his own person.

The halls are eerily quiet as he runs towards the party room, each footstep echoing off the metal walls. He arrives panting and huffing and keys open the door without really thinking.

When he steps through, he comes up short.

It’s the smell, first. It’s sharp. It smells like the color green. Bright, earthy, cloying. And underneath it the unmistakable smell of doing it.

The door closes behind him and he nearly trips over where Coulson is currently engaged in an epic necking contest with Bucky and Sam, each trying to lay the biggest hickey on Captain America’s neck. They heal about as fast as they can suck, which is a weird thing for Clint to be noticing so he yanks his attention to other matters, which aren’t much better.

That’s...definitely Nat and Hill both struggling out of their clothes as Pepper gives them pointers. How she can concentrate with Rhodey under the hem of her skirt is anyone’s guess.

Fury seems to have gotten in a fistfight with Thor, who is thankfully pulling his punches. The fight definitely involves more rending of clothing and lingering touches than is strictly necessary, however. And, God, that is not a part of Fury that Clint ever needed to see. At this rate, the only survivor of their tryst will be the party had oddly affixed to Fury’s head.

“Clint.”

Finally, Clint sees the reason he came here in the first place, tucked into a corner with Loki looming over him. Loki’s got one hand on Bruce’s arm and this creepy little grin on his face, and it immediately sets Clint’s teeth on edge. The smell of green is strong, however, and the anxious feeling that threatens to boil soon fades as he admires the way Loki strokes his fingers up Bruce’s arm, leaving little goosebumps in his wake.

Bruce expertly extricates himself and strolls over to Clint, leaving Loki to pout in the corner and glare sullenly at the Thor and Fury make out session.

“Clint,” Bruce says again. Clint glances at his eyes first, just to assess the situation. They are reassuringly brown, but blown wide and shiny with intent. Clint can’t look away. “Did you bring the tranquilizer arrow?”

“Uh, yeah.” Clint pulls it up in his quiver, just to demonstrate. He’s suddenly hyper aware of the arrow in his hands, smooth and silky, sharp as the scent of this room. “Why, d’you…?”

“Good,” Bruce says, and kisses him.

‘Kisses’ is a bit of an understatement, more like spills into him with what feels like a decade of pent up lust, biting and nipping at his lips before slipping his tongue in to taste him. Clint’s just along for the ride, wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into as the force of Bruce’s kiss sends him tripping backwards. This time he actually trips, however, over the still-prone Coulson-Steve-Bucky-Sam foursome, which has now devolved to shirtless groping.

Bruce tries to follow him down, but Coulson peels off from the foursome and makes a beeline for Clint. Coulson blocks his path, laying out little kisses on Clint’s jaw, his ear, his neck, and Clint realizes he’s still got his arrow in his hand so he drops it.

“No, no,” Bruce says. He carefully picks up the arrow and wraps Clint’s fingers around it as Clint tries to figure out what the hell is going on. Magic, he figures, through his magic-addled mind. “If I start to change you need to stab me with this.” Then he gently pushes Coulson aside, half rolling him towards where Nat has found a nice seat on Thor’s face, and curls up at Clint’s side.

It’s still strange, but for all the just blatant sex happening in the room, all the incredible, uncontrollable feelings building as Clint’s blood rushes south, Bruce is still unbelievably measured. He’s still kissing like he hasn’t done it in awhile; like he’s missed it dearly. Clint begins feeling his faculties slipping into the nice, warm feeling of Bruce’s hands on his chest, his hips, his waist, and Bruce takes his time. Maps the little stretches of Clint’s skin and sighs dreamily into Clint’s mouth.

Some vague, still with-it part of Clint’s mind hopes that someone thought to bring lube, else the Fury-Rhodey-Bucky-Pepper oddness that’s building will go south quickly. But the bigger part of him, the part that likes twisting Bruce’s hair in his fingers and listening to him gasp, the part that is preoccupied with the scent of green, is focused solely on pleasuring Bruce.

*

Tony rolls up fashionably late.

“What the hell,” is the first thing he says. Followed by a pout. Followed by, “You guys had an orgy without me?”

There’s a tangle of limbs in the corner that Tony can barely tell is a smug-looking Agent Hill draped with one Bucky Barnes. Spread out in a little circle around them are Agent Agent, Steve, and Natasha. Steve’s got one of them in each arm and seems to be forcing Natasha to cuddle. Agent, for his part, is more than willing. Thor is at their feet, curled up like a little kitten as Fury pets his hair. He spots Pepper peeling away from Sam to snatch a flute of champagne before returning. Clint and Bruce are doing that dorky cuddling-while-facing-one-another thing that people do, entangling their fingers together and whispering.

Loki is starfished in the middle of the room. No one is touching him.

And, oh yeah, everyone is completely naked.

“Well.” Tony’s hands fly to the tie at his neck. “Who’s up for round two?”

Fury takes off the ridiculous party hat on his head, balls it up, and chucks it at him.

 


End file.
